My Two Cents

Penny pinching has never been my thing. It is the most un-Lebanese thing you can do, but now that I have a mortgage, well let's just say that the honeymoon period of buying Prada bags at my leisure is officially over. (Insert tragic crying emoticon face here. Insert it more than once. And one more time for good measure.)

MadGlam would be (is?) horrified at my new frugal ways. We once traveled to Greece together and rented a quad, which broke down in the middle of the road... at the bottom of a hill. She sweet talked some young (Italian, I think?) teen to push it up the hill for us, but it still wouldn't work.

Much to my horror, she then attempted to get me to hitchhike with her back to our hotel. 'What? It is safe! Nothing will happen,' she proclaimed as she literally tried to shove me into a random pickup truck that pulled over. She thinks vacations are like Dirty Dancing with hot Johnny Castles picking you up. I think they're more like an episode on Discovery ID with Freddy Krueger lurking in the shadows. Anyway, we scuffled for a bit, with her pushing me by the shoulders to get in, me yelling for her to get off because I didn't feel like getting kidnapped by possible serial killers in a foreign country, thank you very much. The truck driver finally drove off. Either he understood the whole serial killer thing and got offended, or he just got bored. Either way, there was no hitchhiking.

We did not have our cell phones, but somehow managed to find a cab to take us back to the hotel. Once we got there, I told her to call the quad guy and demand her money back, since she's the one who rented the thing, and to ask him to reimburse us for the cab fare. Now it was her turn to look horrified. 'It's only five euros!' she said, too embarrassed to fight over what she considered such a small sum. This is, after all the Lebanese way. It is ayb, or shameful, to argue over money. But my American sensibilities would have none of that BS. 'It's the principle of the matter,' I shot back, reminding her of the ordeal that had just transpired. It wasn't the amount, I reminded her, but the fact that he cheated us and we shouldn't have to pay for that, no matter how little the sum.

So, she called the quad guy and he came to the hotel. I was with her for moral support. She agreed to argue over the five euros but not the cab fare. After some wrangling, the quad guy gave MadGlam her money back and she was ecstatic. She opened her palm to show me the money and there was actual glee in her expression. 'My mother will be mortified,' she said. 'Well, I'm proud of you,' I replied.

But now that I'm back living in the US, I may have taken that 'matter of principle' a little to far. I got my cable bill and it was up by two cents. Yes, I know two cents. But since the ad said that my bill would stay the same for the first year, I thought, you know, it's a matter of principle. I probably shouldn't be admitting this, but I called. And complained. Over the two cents. I didn't express outrage or anything - this is the same cable company that had sent out bills to 'annoying' customers with curse words in place of their names. I was super calm and explained the change, no matter how small, had messed up my automatic payment system.

Can you guess how this story ends? Well, I got my two cents!


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1 Broke Girl!

Dear readers, this year has not been stellar for my business. It was so bad that I didn't even make enough money to buy a single new designer bag. I know, so tragic. Forget about the Arab Spring and global warming - this handbag situation is the tragedy of the year. Okay, so I'm exaggerating - what else is new? I can just imagine the litany of angry emails I will get in response to that last statement: you compare Marc Jacobs camel tote to Middle East revolution?? Oh, who am I kidding? Like anyone ever sends me mail in response to this blog (that no one reads) anyway!

As usual, I digress...

So, business has been really bad and I have been forced to reevaluate my whole business plan (yes, I have a business plan!). Should I stay in Beirut, where let's face it, the amount I make from one brochure means about the only thing I can afford in this town is a Starbucks coffee - a Venti, but still. After reviewing my invoices for 2011, I realized that if I were living in the US, local churches would be coming around giving me charity gift baskets as if to say, 'Oh, we're so sorry you're so poor, here, have a banana muffin.' And if I were still living in the US, I would so take that gift basket and enjoy that muffin with my Starbucks coffee, or my net worth as it were.

The trouble with being poor in Beirut is that no one admits that they're strapped for cash. It's like this giant taboo. I mean, people are actually ashamed that they can't afford the latest $8 million cell phone or ridiculous sports car that transforms into a rocket and flies to the moon. In fact, I would go so far as to say that admitting you have money problems is worse than, say, admitting you never graduated high school ... or that you robbed a bank ... or that you still wear Speedos.

I know that some people would even prefer to sell an internal organ in order to pretend that they live la dolce vita. Kidney? What kidney? Who needs that itty, bitty thing when you can get knee-high Christian Louboutin boots instead? I know what you're thinking, but the thought has never crossed my mind. Really! Why don't you believe me? I'm telling the truth. Honest! I'm not even a fan of Louboutin! Okay, okay. I'm kind of a fan. Minor, really ... a passing fancy, if you will. Perhaps maybe with a medium sized appreciation for the supple leather, pretty heels and oh so hot red soles. Nothing major. Alright, a little major. Okay, alright already, so I'm a huge fan! HUGE!

Other than being frustrated at not being able to purchase new, pretty things, another problem is explaining to friends that I simply can't afford to do certain activities unless I resort to the Daddy ATM machine, ever so popular in Lebanon but a place I haven't visited since 1995 (okay, 1998!). To some Beirutis, though, admitting that no, you can't just hop on a plane to the south of France for a 30 day vacation at a ritzy five-star hotel that costs $2,000 a night is tantamount to saying that you're homeless and living in a cardboard box in an alleyway off Hamra Street, practically starving if not for the LL250 mankoushi that Abu Mustapha, the guy with the neighboring impostor perfume stand, gave you after selling his eighth bottle of faux Chanel No. 5.

So I've accepted that I'm not going on any shopping sprees at Saks any time soon, but with Christmas and FOUR birthdays coming up, my bank account is still in a major panic. Wouldn't it be great if I could just buy everyone socks and they would all think that was the best present ever? Even the kids, would be like, Yay, socks! So awesome! Anissa is the best aunty ever! If that completely believable scenario doesn't happen, I could always feign innocence and be like Whaaaaat? Socks aren't a marvelous present? Why, I had no idea. Look, they have ducks on them!


Oh well, you know what they say: ♫ It's the most  expensive wonderful time of the year ♫ !!!